So, this is what happens when I'm brainstorming for HeartFrost while my brother watches Disney's "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". Personally, the movie has always been one of my favorite of Disney's, but I didn't expect it to lead to this. One second the movie's playing "The Bells of Notre Dame" and the next I'm writing this. I suppose this could be thought off as part of my Renascentia universe, but it can also be read as separate. I will continue this, but it will be rated M for the violence as it tells of what happened during the Aesir-Vanir war. I hope you all enjoy it as I continue with this story alongside HeartFrost.
The deafening silence after the cacophony of battle often brings out the most emotion. While the rage and blood-lust roaring through one's veins may seem overpowering, it is the aftermath which reveals the heart. Men who did not so much as bat an eye as they slayed their foes fell prey to crushing realization once the ringing of metal colliding fell away. It was also the time when the crows came to sing their melody of the dead.
Amidst the ravaged wasteland of a recent battlefield, corpses littered the ground like fallen snow. The few who still lived but lay on death's doorstep cried out for the aid that was not there. As the time continued to drip away, the screams subsided until only the calling of birds echoed through the ashen skies.
Only one of the dying lay silent against the bloodied ground, knowing that no one would answer him should he call. Blood poured from the deep wound across his abdomen, the steel of his breastplate rent apart to reveal the gaping hole. He could not count how many he had felled, but did not see any reason to regret his actions. The gates of Valhalla would open for him and he could think of no more honorable a way to die than in battle for his people.
Unbeknownst of him, an armor-clad figure walked carefully through the labyrinth of the dead. The being held a staff similar to a shepherd's crook, an incense lamp hanging from it. Occasionally, the person would stop at certain corpses, setting them alight with flames it summoned from the lamp. It continued its way through the moors, continuing to burn only a select few of the dead. As it did so, it began to croon a slow song in a language which caused the very air to quiver.
Where the sole living man lay, the music reached his ears. With no strength to cry out for help, he simply remained silent. As he waited, he spotted the soldier gracefully stepping over the bodies. He groaned in discomfort as the being stepped upon his hand, sending small stings of pain into his arm.
The soldier jumped back, exclaiming in surprise in its strange language. As it knelt down to get a closer look, the man noticed it had a rather angular face and wide gray eyes that seemed to shine like starlight. He guessed it was a young boy come to search for survivors. Thin fingers trailed across the edges of his wound, causing him to inhale sharply.
"You are alive," it breathed, taking off its helmet.
Golden whorls fell to the soldier's shoulders, framing the stunning face of what the man realized to be a young woman. She placed her helmet on the ground beside her, next to her staff which stood on its own. He winced weakly as she splayed her fingers across his wound, uttering lilting words that he could not understand. An odd prickling sensation engulfed his torso and when the woman removed her hands, he realized he was healed.
He sat up slowly, testing his strength. Wisps of canary yellow smoke trailed from her fingers, but her kind smile distracted him from the coils.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice weak.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of armored feet racing across the ground caused her to glance over her shoulder in alarm. Grabbing her helmet and staff, she ran away from the sound. The man gazed after her, watching in awe and surprise as her willowy figure disappeared into the mists.
A second later, a new soldier approached. Worry was clear on his face as he stooped to help the man up to his feet.
"Prince Odin, thank the Norns," he gasped. "I feared the worst when you did not return to the base."
The man, Odin, gazed in the direction the mysterious woman had vanished, "Yes, thank the Norns."
The soldier glanced in the direction his Prince looked, "Whatever is the matter, my Prince?"
"I believe I have seen a spirit," he replied.
"What form of spirit?"
"I know not."
It was a lie. He knew exactly what the woman had been, but he could not fathom why she had healed him. She was one of the enemy, why would she not leave him to die? Though she wore the disguise of an Asgardian, he knew the truth as soon as she healed him. He couldn't shake the confusion as the soldier led him from the battlefield.
She had been a Vanir.
